


Smell

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: T'Pol ponders various sensory, sensible and nonsensical information during her stay in sickbay after a mission gone awry. (08/03/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

The acrid smell of disinfectant is overwhelming. I would recognize the Enterprise sickbay with closed eyes any day. Again, I am fighting down the remnants of what used to be my last meal, although I have already emptied my stomach once in the shuttlepod. I try not to dwell on that; the embarrassment is so great it is nearly painful for me to process the event, yet. The stench is awful. I will have to ask Doctor Phlox to do something about this.

I can also smell the faint whiff of musk in the air, and I know too well who is sitting by the bed.

"So you did it again," he states in the way of welcome.

"Captain," I reply as is expected. I force my still heavy eyelids openâ€”the inner-eyelid reflex seems to have returned, thankfullyâ€”and resign myself to the long-anticipated discussion. If such combination is possible, he looks angry and relieved at the same time. His hair is mussed and the worry lines on his forehead deeper than usual, his eyes have lost sharpness to lack of sleep. My internal clock tells me about twenty hours have passed since our boarding the shuttle. I know with irrefutable certainty he spent the night here. "Have you had your leg treated?"

He looks down with a faint frownâ€”thankfully, he has at least changed his clothesâ€”then back to me. "My leg is just fine. How could you do that, T'Pol?"  
Oh. Cutting right to the chase, as the human idiom goes.

I blink. "Oh, no, you don't! You knew what you were doing when you moved into the line of that shot. You are much too careful and smart for something like that to happen by chance. You are foolproof, T'Pol. Now I want an explanation."

Jonathan Archer is exhausted; if I couldn't tell by his appearance, then his agitated rant proves that much. The irony of itâ€”he is interrogating his seriously wounded second-in-command who has just regained consciousness, and apparently he feels the need to get defensive already.

Doctor Phlox arrives with his usual impeccable timing, which means that I am spared the consequences of answering truthfully for another few minutes. I suspect, although I have yet to prove this supposition, that he has in fact been observing us for some time from his office, and it is only now that he decided to interfere. In some ways, especially when it comes to Humans and their behavior, the Doctor is more of a researcher than I am.

"Ah, Sub-Commander! How nice of you to finally join the world of the living! I was getting worried. How do you feel?" He runs a scanner over me while I list the fierce headache, slight nausea and lingering numbness in my limbs.

Archer is standing by the bed, leaning his weight on his uninjured leg. I can tell he is worried, but impatient. He wants his answers.

"Some pains are still to be expected...that was a nasty hit you got behind your ear. You were lucky it was on stun. From what I gather, if it were not for that thick Vulcan skull of yours, you would be dead," the Doctor says, not once wavering from his exuberant tone, although still managing to tamp it down near the end and convey a fair amount of compassion.

"Doctor, I would like you to administer a dose of my nasal suppressant. I am finding it increasingly uncomfortable to breathe." My eyes wander to Archer again andâ€”I blink a few times to make sure I am seeing rightâ€”a vague expression of hurt flits across his features. And to think I used to believe I was the one who was inconvenienced and slighted when it comes to smells around this place.

He's asking Doctor Phlox when I will be able to return to duty. He doesn't want to rush it. Three days in sickbay for observation.

He waits until the Doctor has disappearedâ€”went back to watching us, no doubt.

"Now, tell me, what was it about?"

"You were in the line of that shot, Captain."

"What?"

I cannot stop myself from releasing a sigh. "I said, you were in the- " He doesn't let me finish.

"Yeah, I heard thatâ€”are you seriously telling me you took that shot for me?!"  
Anger and total disbelief war on his face that has suddenly drained of color; not that there was much color to begin with. It is as if I am seeing him for the first timeâ€”which does not make sense, but I digressâ€”he seems to have aged ten human years in that moment alone. Very well. Apparently I just turned all of his beliefs upside down.

I do not deem it necessary to provide an answer, as it is quite obvious. His eyes flash dangerously. Anger has just won.

"Are you insane! Where in hell do you get off doing something like that!?" If I hadn't tightened the grip on my own emotions, I would have winced at this outburst. As it is, I merely concentrate on diluting his attention.

"Captain, there is no need to be profane." It doesn't help matters at all. He turns his back on me as if he didn't want me to watch his loss of control, and punches the bulkhead beside the biobed with a resounding thud.

"Damn!"

"Captain, I do not think this is the most appropriate time..." Doctor Phlox starts saying from the doorway of his office, but this time is silenced by a glare.

"We'll finish this shortly, Doctor," Archer bites off.

He turns back to me. He is seething. As usual when he is distraught he needs movement, but with the restricted space between the biobeds and his not yet completely healed leg, pacing is a very hard thing to do. After taking a few calming gulps of air, he reaches out and I know he wants to grab my shoulders and shake me; his favorite way of making me see the error of my ways. Soon enough he realizes it would only cause me pain, and instead settles for leaning on the edge of the bed, searching my eyes.

"Explain," he says in a measured voice.

I have to wonder if humans know our olfactory sense is twenty times better than theirs is. Do they know we can actually smell the chemical changes in a body that are emotions? In this instant Archer's emotions, an odd mix of rage, confusion and fear is swamping me, and I have to concentrate to refrain from flinching. His mere presence, this knot of unbridled aggression, is threatening and he doesn't even know. If I were to give in to the momentary impulse, I would feel...fear. With the barbaric, blood-bathed past we had put behind us at an expense higher than humans could ever guess, Vulcans naturally shy away from all signs of budding violence.

"It was the logical course of action, Captain. If you had taken the hit in the position you were in, you would undoubtedly be dead, as Doctor Phlox has pointed out. Since your life and health is of utmost importance to this mission, and I was in no position to take out the shooter, I stepped into the line of fire," I recite calmly what has been playing over and over again in my mind since I woke up. Your life...utmost importance...I step into the line of fire. Yes.

He gives into the urge and grasps my shoulders, albeit carefully.

"Your logic is flawed, Sub-Commander."

"I do not believe it is, and you do not, either, Captain." I brave his piercing gaze with one of my own.

"How can you put my life over yours?" His voice is shaking with tension and very quiet, a sure sign matters are getting personal. "Do you Vulcans have no sense of self-preservation?"

"Just the opposite, Captain, our self-preservation instinct is very well developed. I did in no way plan on giving my life for you."

The eyes of Jonathan Archer are frantic. I fancy I have yet to see him so deranged. I do not wish to see the desperation written there, so I avert mine.

"But you could have! You could have died, T'Pol! How do you think that would make me feel?"

How typicalâ€”he is being selfish, his argumentation irrational and emotionally charged, after he has run out of reasonable things to say. Hopefully, this conversation is drawing to a close.

"I did not, Captain. I am, albeit not perfectly yet, fine and alive, and so are you, " I conclude and I can hear the exhaustion marking my words myself. He's still frowning, he wants to fight with me. Well, I do not. Not that I would ever fight with him in the sense of the word; I merely present my point.

"T'Pol..."

"Captain, I do not wish to continue this. I need to rest."

A miracleâ€”his face softens immediately. The interrogator that blatantly ignored the ordination of his Chief Medical Officer is gone, and Jonathan Archer bows to the will of a weak female. He leaves without looking back. Minutes later the air in the room has been recycled and cleaned of the last traces of Jonathan Archer, and I breathe in deeply, feeling like myself again. Strangely, it is not as calming as I am used to.


End file.
